Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
And now?
Now I hate that she watches me warily, like I’m no better than her ex.
She doesn’t know I saw everything, and even though I detested the thought of them together, I still tried to make Zane see what he was risking. I hated knowing he was screwing around behind her back. What I hated most was seeing how much he hurt her.
The past fades away as I watch her gracefully move behind the counter, tying a box of cookies with a pink ribbon, smiling at a kid with chocolate smeared across his cheek.
That smile is like the sun peeking out from behind the clouds.
I shift closer, waiting for her to glance up and look in my direction, but she studiously avoids my gaze.
And there’s only so long I can hang around before it becomes awkward.
Hell, I’m already way past that point.
Especially when she doesn’t want me in her shop to begin with.
I take a reluctant step in retreat. Just as I’m about to leave, I spot a folded piece of paper on the floor near the end of the counter, half-tucked beneath it. I bend down and snag it from the tile. It never occurs to me not to scan the contents.
My gut twists as I glance at the first few lines.
Then I read them for a second time to make sure I haven’t jumped to the wrong conclusion.
When I look up again, Callie is helping a new customer, completely unaware I’ve been given a glimpse into her financial situation.
Without thinking, I fold up the paper and slip it into the back pocket of my jeans. My brain whirls with possible ways to help her. The tricky part is that if I offer my assistance, she’ll shut me down without so much as a second thought.
Callie has a lot of pride.
And then there’s the fact that she hates my guts and doesn’t trust me.
I need time to think.
Plan.
By the time she turns around, I’ve got my scone in one hand and coffee in the other. “Thanks.”
Her gaze cautiously flicks to mine as the sunshine in her expression fades. “No problem.”
And just like that, she slams the door shut again, locking me out.
How sad is it that I live for the rare moments when she looks at me?
It’s the only time I feel like I can breathe.
I push into the crisp autumn air and nearly run into Evelyn Kingston, one of the owners of the Railers hockey team. She’s dressed in a stylish faux-fur coat, her ebony-colored hair twisted into something elegant that only looks effortless. Her gaze dips to the bag and coffee in my hands, then back up to my face with a shrewd smile.
“Fan of the coffee and pastries, are we?” she asks, like she doesn’t already know the answer.
“Among other things.”
“Well, you aren’t the only one. Callie’s about to receive a lot more attention.”
Everything inside me stills. “Oh? Why’s that?”
Her smile turns sly. “Beau Masterson’s going to reach out to Callie about featuring her desserts in his restaurants. Isn’t that fantastic news?”
It is.
One hundred percent.
But it also isn’t.
Now I’m imagining Callie in the spotlight, facing even more pressure. While she deserves a thriving business, part of me knows that kind of exposure comes with complications. Especially when you’re a single parent without a support system to rely on.
And, if I’m being completely honest, I don’t like the idea of Beau Masterson sniffing around Callie. The guy is a rich playboy, and Chicago is his hunting ground.
When I remain silent, Evelyn steps closer before pausing, her gaze pinned to mine. “If you’re planning on making a move, River, I wouldn’t wait too long.”
The comment catches me off guard. Before I can come up with a response, she’s gone, disappearing inside the bakery.
I stand there for a few seconds, watching Callie through the window.
Evelyn’s right. I can’t afford to wait any longer. I’ve already wasted too much time.
If I’m not careful, she’ll slip right through my fingers.
And I’m not about to let that happen.
3
Callie
My nerves continue to riot beneath my skin. Even after the door swings shut behind River. His presence lingers, impossible to ignore. I don’t understand why he affects me so much.
I press a palm to my chest and try to talk myself down from the ledge.
It’s not that big of a deal. The man is a customer like everyone else who pops in for a coffee and pastry.
He just so happens to be a dangerously attractive, ridiculously tall customer with gorgeous blue eyes and a habit of making me feel things I’ve spent years trying to avoid.
It’s no big deal.
None at all.
When the last of the mid-morning rush trickles out, I drop onto a stool behind the counter as Sloane finishes wiping a table before leaning over and shooting me a look that says she’s dying to explode.